


Necromancy

by BoysWithMagic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged up characters, Allurance is onesided romantically speaking here, BUT THERE IS A BABY, Basically it's supposed to be deliciously sad, F/M, Happy Zarkon and Honerva, I hope that comes across, Lance is probably almost 30 tbh, Lotura child, PONYTAIL LOTOR, Romance, Someone dies, They r good, This is a oneshot that can transform, everyone else would be their proper ages in regards to that, fantasy AU btw, holy shit I wrote straight love and it feels good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15346032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoysWithMagic/pseuds/BoysWithMagic
Summary: Lance had a lot of regrets. He regretted the way he’d treated his mother growing up, the self-centeredness and naive demands. He regretted the falling out with his best friend, leaving them both lonely for nearly a decade now. He regretted how he treated his body, the long nights with a bottle, blowing smoke into his room. Of all of that, of all the memories that fueled him to cry alone on his balcony, the biggest was Allura.





	Necromancy

Lance had a lot of regrets. He regretted the way he’d treated his mother growing up, the self-centeredness and naive demands. He regretted the falling out with his best friend, leaving them both lonely for nearly a decade now. He regretted how he treated his body, the long nights with a bottle, blowing smoke into his room.

Of all of that, of all the memories that fueled him to cry alone on his balcony, the biggest was Allura. People always told him that first impressions were everything, that they were  _ make or break _ in terms of relationships, but he was stubborn and set in his ways. Apparently pretty girls didn’t like his outrageous tactics. Or, maybe, this particular pretty girl didn’t.

He could still remember what she’d been wearing when they first met. A perfectly sewn pink gown, one she admitted was a remake of her mother’s, in honor of her death. They’d been standing in the ruins of her family’s castle, a shadowed, dusty reminder that she was now alone in the world. Despite that, the angst in her face, the unshed tears in her eyes, the first thing he thought was how badly he wanted her naked and calling his name.

It hurt, looking back on that past version of himself. He wanted to reach through the sands of time and wring that idiot’s neck but, what’s done is done. It must have been a delicate balance when she was growing up, a strict lesson that combined self respect and kindness. Despite how he treated her, the crude humor and obvious goals, she met his remarks with firm control. Grace, Allura had grace he’d never been able to appreciate. She accepted the help of his family, agreed to be escorted to the land of Daibazaal for her safe-keeping. Altea, her home, and the house of knowledge so ancient that the air tasted of the past, present, and future, was made into ruin by a dark force. 

She called them Quintessels, beastly animals infected by liquid magic, feral and hungry. The leaders of these beasts, humanoids by the name of Druids, burnt all they could of Altea, and of the Altean elves. It was a threat that had been delivered directly to King Alfor’s doorstep, a promise to destroy everything he ever built if he didn’t stop pushing into the realm of magic with his Alchemy. The message was met with a soft laugh and a dismissing wave of the king’s hand. 

His reward for that ignorance had been the destruction of his people, of his country, and it left his daughter an orphan with little direction. King Zarkon of Daibazaal was quick to extend a helping hand to Allura, and to any other Alteans that might have survived. If Lance’s counting were even the least bit accurate, around thirty elves lived in the confines of Zarkon’s estate, protected like endangered animals, provided with all the comforts in the world.

Lance was from a human family, a set of warriors called Paladins. His family was among ten others that had blood so pure that it could consecrate ground, making Quintessels unable to pass over it. Well,  _ most _ from the families had that special property in their DNA. Lance was not one of these. From the Rite of Passage, held when he was fifteen, his blood did little more than create uneasy red dots on the green grass of his home. Though his parents were supportive of him in all his efforts to be the best Paladin, regardless of his lack of power, it seemed fruitless at times.

He felt a failure most of his days. An unloved, lonely, forgotten failure that kept his ghostly home at the Daibazaal estate. During their travels from Altea to the house of Zarkon, Allura and he had struck up a mutual I-save-you and you-save-me bond. It transcended his initial, lust-driven thoughts. Not only was she the subject of his wildest fantasies but, now she was a brother in arms. He fell. He fell  _ hard _ . It was impossible not to love absolutely everything she said or did, not when she was purity personified.

Unfortunately for him, all she could see when they spoke was an immature little boy set on sticking his dick into everything that moved. He couldn’t blame her, even if he got so angry he wanted to tear the fancy Galra pillows in his room to shreds. To be human, and to be allowed to stay at the royal Galran house was rare. They were a traditional people, those of Daibazaal, and tradition dictated that only those of pure Galra blood should be allowed to enter the great hall and beyond.

King Zarkon had married an Altean, though. One of the greatest Alchemists in Altea, Honerva. This was the first interracial marriage of royals to be documented, and Zarkon happily tore down the tradition of Galra-only blood so that his wife and future child could rest easy in a home fit for them. Honerva and Zarkon did birth a child, five years after Allura had been christened. 

Lotor was tall, elegant, and resembled his mother more than his father. Elvish, though irrefutably purple, he found comfort in Altean practices and was a prodigy in terms of Alchemy. Lance could still remember the look on his face when he first laid his eyes on Allura, the drop in his jaw before he hurried to introduce himself.

Jealousy used to burn like acid in every ounce of his blood but, time gave him another perspective, and it quelled the sour fire in his stomach. Allura was so undeniably happy. The way she talked when conversing with Lotor about subjects that were above Lance’s intellect, that shine in her eyes when she and Lotor practiced Alchemy together in the courtyard. Lance could remember standing guard at the gate, and hearing her chorus of laughter in response to whatever it was Lotor had said.

If he couldn’t see her glittering and bright, if Lance wasn’t the one that could make her so happy to be alive, then so be it. No one contested his desire to stay as their guard. No one sent a letter from Terra to beg him to return. He had his bad blood to thank for that but, it was dismissable. He didn’t care. 

Years passed, bittersweet ones where Lance was an outsider looking in at real love. What they had was organic, slow and steady, and they both exuded copious amounts of kindness and caring. The public loved them, the surviving Alteans praised them, and they brought out the best in one another. Lotor and Allura. Daibazaal’s most powerful of power couples. 

After three years of official dating, they were married. After six months of marriage, they announced the upcoming addition to their family. Olluvor was a quiet child, with far more control over his hueshifting capabilities than someone of his lineage should. No one was quite sure what his skin color was, or his eyes, or his hair. Allura had assured them he was purple-skinned, dark-haired, and yellow eyed. 

Lance was worried he’d hate the kid, seeing as how he was physical proof of Allura’s love with another man but, it was impossible. Ollee was everything good about the both of them shoved into one little being. Sure, he was only two, but the gentleness he gave each and every single thing he came into contact with was unquestionable. The chameleon baby was well known for finding colonies of bugs and simply watching them, unbothered. 

Ten years it had been, ten years of loving Allura and watching her love another. The marriage hardly suffered from the baby’s birth, which Lance found surprisingly settling. Hopes and prayers that she would change her mind were things of the past, and now he only looked forward to her prospering through her life.

That fell through, though. Her unending happiness reaching the far corners of the earth. It was silenced by the cold grip of death. A sweeping of plague. The hollowing of her cheeks. That was where they were now, at her deathbed, the most regal and elegant of all ends. Apart from the thinness of her beautiful face, she looked tired more than anything.

It was called Three, for it was the third of great plagues. Lance couldn’t think of that, though. There was little more he could consider now, watching Allura blink nice and slow from her pile of pillows. Her hair was down, the markings on her face humming with a dying power, dressed in the comfiest of nightgowns. He’d read passages from old papers back in Terra about princesses and queens falling into deep sleeps, and  _ god _ did he wish that was what was happening.

“Lance...” She said softly, in the most private manner she’d ever given him. “Lance... Do you know how far he is...?”

He was sitting at the chair next to her bed, facing her, his gear discarded by the door. Lance shook his head, watching her with bated breath, fighting the urge to cry and scream at the sky for holy intervention. “It’s hard with the sickness right now... The roads are all blocked...”

She smiled, managing a weak chuckle, “I know... I was just really hoping to see him... Is...” Allura had been fighting her tears for the better part of two hours. Her blue eyes would shine, swimming in hot, painful water before she shook them away. Her voice dipped, shaking with the name she spoke, “Olluvor... He’s safe...?”

“He’s safe.” Lance assured her, a knot rising in his throat at her tone and visage. He would trade himself easily, offer up each and every fibre of his being to save the only person in the world worth this much love. “Allura...”

“That’s me...” She said through a watery smile, “Princess Allura... Daughter of Alfor of Altea... Wife to... to Lotor of...” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she sniffled, unable to even raise her arm to wipe her eyes, “Lotor of Daibazaal.... M-Mother to... M-M...” She turned her head toward him on the pillow, liquid anguish pouring down her face. “No...”

Lance had nothing to hide, no reason not to return her sorrow, to show her how he truly felt. He scooted the chair further, the sound drown out by the subject of his love’s tears, and he reached a hand across the bed to rest it on her arm. “Allura, should I get the doctor?”

“No...” She repeated, opening her eyes to look up to him, as pale as she’d ever been. “I know what this is, Lance just...” For a second it looked like she was trying to sit up, and he moved his hand to her shoulder.

“Don’t push it like that,” he asked softly. “Please...”

“My parents left me too young...” She laid limp like he’d requested, blue eyes still glittering with heartache, peppered with fear. “I was nearly an adult... and it was still so young... Too young... My Olluvor... My...”

Lance wanted to tell her it would all be okay, he fought with the words, but nothing about this was okay. Allura was dying. She’d be dead before the sun rose in the morning. Nothing but a corpse. Unfair, fuck this was so fucking unfair.

“Please, make sure he’ll be okay...” She sounded like an end, the last page of a book, closing in on a final sentence. Lance needed more, he had to hear her voice more. Lotor wasn’t here yet, they’d need to say goodbye. Anxiety gripped at his throat, it’s other hand around his spine. He shook, fingers trembling against her shoulder, nearly rising to his feet.

“Fuck, Allura, no...” Was all he could manage, spoken like a true idiot. “Allura, wait...”

“I’m waiting... I’m trying...” She assured him. “Lance, thank you... for everything... I wouldn’t have made it here...”

He was crying worse than her now, shaking his head again, unable to keep his face straight. “Please...” He needed to say something substantial. Something for her to carry into the black she was fading into. It had to be monumental, it had to have enough weight to keep her safe. Lance couldn’t think of a single thing, nothing apart from a plea to just  _ not die _ .

“Truly,” she managed to lay a hand across his, breath slow and audible. “Lance, I owe you so much...”

“Y-You don’t owe me anything at all...” He stammered through his tears, through the wobble in his throat, “God, Allura, you don’t owe me anything...”

There came footsteps in the hall, the sound of wind through rushed clothes. Lance turned in his chair, still feeling the weight of Allura’s hand on his, eyes wide as he watched the door spring open. Lotor looked like fear, his long white hair pulled up into a ponytail, messy strands falling over his face. He was dressed for travel, yellow eyes jumping immediately to Allura’s deathly visage.

“ _ Allura!? _ ” He called, though it sounded so tiny in that moment. Lotor’s boots were heavy against the wooden flooring as he ran around the bed, standing opposite of Lance. When they met Allura’s face, they caught the last glimmer of blue before her eyes shut, a ghost of a smile capturing her with death’s kiss. 

Time didn’t make sense, the dead weight on Lance’s hand didn’t make sense. She was... gone.. She was really, truly gone. Just in time to hear Lotor call her name one final time. Dead. Princess Allura was dead. There had been so much more to say, so many more conversations to be had. A... child to raise...

Lance felt a curl in his stomach, a whimper in his throat, the need to fall to the ground and wail. He tore his eyes from Allura’s final expression, staring up at her husband, chewing on his lip with a swell of emotion.

If ever there were a living ghost, here he was. Pale, the purple of his skin falling dull, pointed ears falling an inch downward. He smelt like the air outside, a swirl of spring flowers, a few petals actually resting in his hair and on his shoulders. Lotor raised a single hand, lowered it, then raised it again and pressed it over Allura’s wrist. Like confirmation of her passing, he shut his eyes and dipped his head down. A sound unlike one Lance had ever heard filtered through his gritted teeth.

_ Defeat _ .

“Allura...” Lotor tried one last time, brushing her hollowed cheek with the outside of his fingers like he could will her back to life. “My love, please...”

Lance slid his hand from under hers, fixing the arm so that it lay flat against the bed. He couldn’t help holding himself, sitting there like a shell of broken... everything...

“Please...” 

They weren’t sure which one of them said it, maybe both. The room was so empty and full, a cold pressure from death taking Allura’s blessed soul away, leaving her body as a reminder that it could do the same to them as well. Snuff out their lives before the world was ready to say goodbye to them. Lotor sank to his knees next to the bed, yellow eyes shaded, tears tracing the sharp features of his face.

How long they sat there was unclear, but soon a team of medical professionals were shown to the room. Lotor and Lance were filtered out with little struggle, left to stand in some unknown hallway, alone and dark. After a few desolate minutes in the echoing wake of Allura’s death, Lotor spoke with her same softness.

“Did she... say anything to you...?”

Lance looked up, knowing he’d have to return to the room in order to get his gear. “She...” He trailed, “She said she loved you... and Ollee... and...” Remembering the look on her face when she broke down about her son, about how she’d lost her parents, it brought the tears back. Lotor, in all his emotional reservation, reflected the action, reaching up to rub at his own eyes.

“Fuck,” Lance sniffled, “She just... was really upset about leaving Ollee...” 

That seemed to physically pain the prince, and he let out a stressed breath. After a sniffle, a calming inhale, and the smoothing of his wispy bangs from his face, he met Lance’s eyes. “I have to see him...”

“Right now...?” Lance asked as sympathetically as he could manage. “Lotor, she just... you...”

“I need to see him.” Lotor nodded to instill confidence in himself, lowering his arms, fixing the jacket he wore, “He’s alone right now...”

“Okay...” Lance added weakly, “Is there... anything you need?”

“No, just,” Lotor shook his head, waving his hands as he took a few steps backwards, “Just... do whatever you need to do... I’ll be with my son...” 

Lanced watched the man go, then looked down to his feet. How unexpected... How... absolutely unholy... She was gone, and he couldn’t get over it. He’d never be able to, and... he had nothing to hold and remind him she’d once existed...

Just hopes.

Just dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> I cried while writing this ngl. Like my tags say, this is basically a one shot, but I have plans for future installments. Mostly Lotor and Lance running around with a baby and trying to do _something_ (look at the title)
> 
> My tumblr is @[RealRowes](https://realrowes.tumblr.com/) (tho I do a lot of HotWings crack at the moment)


End file.
